


The Need for Clarity

by LuminousPie



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Post-Episode: s07e02 The Sixth Extinction II: Amor Fati
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:53:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28171206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuminousPie/pseuds/LuminousPie
Summary: Sometimes we need more clarity before we can truly move on.
Relationships: Fox Mulder & Dana Scully, Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 16
Kudos: 63
Collections: X-Files Secret Santa Fanfic Exchange (2020)





	The Need for Clarity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Emeraldsoleil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emeraldsoleil/gifts).



> Prompt: "Turn an episode ending on it's head. Maybe Mulder didn't go back to Bellefleur in Requiem. Maybe Scully didn't stay in the hallway at the end of SE:AF. You choose! Love me some angst and Mulder/Scully banter, but I enjoy reading everything."
> 
> As above the remit was to turn an ending on it’s head so I wanted to see if I could squeeze some angst out of that beautiful moment at the end of SE:AF. So a fair bit of angst contained here, a fair bit of introspection and worry before we sore out through the other side towards the squishy pillow of comfort.
> 
> Hope you enjoy. Merry Christmas!

She didn’t know what ultimately made her change her mind about going inside with Mulder. A combination of things probably. His emotional rawness, his sorrow, the offer of Paris black tea (one of her favourites). His beautiful words for sure, his passionate honesty laid bare. His proclamation of love without actually saying the word... not that she needed words to label what they had. She certainly didn’t need a noun when she lived the verb.

Her first instinct had been to flee though, to fall back on old and easy habits, to run and hide and allow the hollow steel cage of the elevator to whisk her away, to begin the journey back to her own private sanctuary. So often her refuge, her escape, that journey home had seen it’s fair share of emotionally fraught moments and introspection. After being shot through the window, after Padgett, after standoffs and dead informants, of raids and false quarantines, after numerous late night getaways following pizzas and bad movies and falling asleep on each other and in each other's arms on the sofa. An innocent offer to share a bed once.

She’d even looked towards it with intent, spun her chunky heel outward, and contemplated leaving him in his private grief over Diana to allow her to partake in her own, to think of Albert Hosteen, of that kind and gentle soul. They’d prayed together, she’d touched his weathered hand. She was sure of it. It’d been as real as the man standing in front of her. And yet he was gone too, like so many others. How many now? She wasn’t certain, there were too many ghosts for sure. She didn’t like to think of it. She was just confused. Sad too. Lost certainly and left once again with never knowing how to deal with the things she’d experienced.

In the end she’d followed him willingly, always, and closed the door behind her, a path well travelled to the sofa, watching him closely for signs of illness and now as she sat she listened for it. He’d insisted on making the tea himself and wouldn’t be persuaded otherwise. She wouldn’t interfere, not until she needed to, he needed to do this for himself and he was often as fiercely independent as she was.

It gave her an opportunity to look around anyway, to focus on something other than death and routines. Things that shouldn’t fit together but did. It was Mulder all over. The eclectic decor and mismatched furniture always struck her first followed by the the ugly curtains, the photos and art, which she did quite like, on every wall that he said he’d picked up in various places around the world, summer holidays spent in France during his time living in England mostly (she’d always meant to ask him about his life then but had never gotten around to it and he seemed to have closed that part of his life away).

Today there was an episode of Star Trek episode on mute on the TV. She recognised it as Spock's Brain, an episode in which Spock has his brain surgically removed and Kirk has to find it before Spock’s body dies. She shook her head and muttered a despondent, “Oh Mulder.”

She liked it here though. She’d never really appreciated how much until now. She liked it more than her own place sometimes. It was lived in. Comfortable. She liked the smell too. The smell of his cologne, laundry detergent from a fresh pile of dry cleaning on the table that someone had dropped off recently, an air freshener, all a delicious assault on her senses. It was so indefatigably Mulder. 

Sure there were things she didn’t like: the area wasn’t as nice as where she lived and the lighting was terrible, worse there was still a small bloodstain on his floor from the incident with Padgett’s accomplace, or whoever he was, a demented Rorschach inkblot that mocked and reminded and disturbed. It’d burned into the wood and nothing would remove it (they’d both tried). A perverted reminder. She always sidestepped it, yet she always looked. How they’d clung to each other then. But Mulder and his things, being surrounded by both, reminded her of her place in the world and, while she’d often felt unsure of her place in his life, she felt relatively secure now.

She felt horrible for thinking it, hated herself even, but it was a fact that without Diana Fowley a weight had been lifted from her shoulders almost instantly. She hadn’t liked the woman, not one bit, and her help in getting Mulder out of that facility wouldn’t erase the terrible things she’d done. One good deed undertaken on the dying strains of a guilty conscience did not make her suddenly redeemable. Not in her eyes anyway. She could’ve done more to help. Could’ve made sure Mulder hadn’t been taken to that facility in the first place. She would never understand how Diana came to turn her back on him, or even why. She was surely paying for her Faustian bargain now though.

Of course she hadn’t ever wished the woman ill, and she was always sad when anyone died, especially as a physician, even Diana, and she was most definitely grieving for her because Mulder was. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t feel other things too. If truth be told she was angry at the woman: for what she'd done to Mulder, for what she'd done to them, for the way she made her feel (jealous and unsure of her place in Mulder's life and on the X-Files) and for her cruel attempt to deflect blame, and she was sure she would be for some time to come.

She didn’t much like Skinner at the moment either. Right now Diana’s teardrop necklace was burning a hole in her pocket and as she reached in and fingered it, twisting it around her digits, she cursed him with tasking her to give it back to Mulder as per the wishes of Diana’s family.

She pulled it out and let it hang loosely in her fingers. It was a pretty little thing, a real diamond too. Not her style but she appreciated the craftsmanship. The sentiment given by one lover to another and the powerful promises and aspirations it held once upon a time. It swayed under the movement of her hand. When it’d been given she dreaded to think. Ever since she’d been handed it a knife had been twisting in her gut. Was it recent? Had he gifted it on a new declaration. She wished she’d noticed when she’d first seen Diana wearing it but the small things you only notice when it’s too late. 

Maybe she wasn’t so secure after all. She knew nothing of their time together and that haunted her. It shouldn’t but it did.

“What’s that?”

She jumped and held a hand to her chest with a nervous laugh. “Don’t do that Mulder.”

“Sorry,” he smiled.

He was walking cautiously, his face a mask of concentration, while holding a busy tea tray. His knuckles gripping the wooden slat too tightly and she could tell his hand was still shaking as the cups would occasionally rattle. It’d been a problem since he’d left the hospital and while it had improved it was going to take a little while longer to stop completely. She quickly put the necklace away, took the tray and set it down on the coffee table and then joined him on the sofa. He didn’t complain when she took over setting their cups out and pouring the hot liquid out.

“You really should be in bed,” she worried as he settled himself and took his hat off, throwing it towards an armchair across from them. He really wasn’t well enough to be running around after her or attempting to go to the office. And he’d been crying. His checks were still stained but as he’d kept it private she knew not to push. She was guiltily thankful that she didn’t have to witness him crying over another woman too.

“I’m sick of that room.” Taking her offered cup he took a sip of the hot liquid and then put it aside to cool. “Sick of these bandages too,” he lamented tapping his head.

She smiled sympathetically and did a quick examination, checking the stitches careful so as not to irritate him too much. She’d only changed the bandages last night and knew the wounds were continuing to heal well, quickly too. His powers of recovery astounding everyone again, give or take the odd shake. It’d surprised even her as his surgeons at the facility had done an unconventional operation. She doubted they’d made notes, she hadn’t found any, but she’d like to get her hands on them if they did exist. The biological implications of Mulder and his illness were immense. It scared her a little.

“They can come off soon,” she said, touching his hair tenderly. In truth she touched him to make sure he was real. She hadn’t really stopped since she’d found him. This time had been too close. He should be dead. “I hate to say it Mulder but they did a good job of closing the wound, I doubt you’ll have much of a scar.”

He remained unconvinced and remembered Gibson’s angry words from only a few short years ago, “They were butchers.” On the Frankenstein / Mengele scale he’d put them somewhere in the middle.

“They were butchers,” she repeated sadly, eyeing him softly and trying not to cry. She thought of the facility, of finding him abandoned and left to die. Another reason not to forgive Diana. What if she hadn’t been able to find him or the keycard had failed? She dreaded to think. Would she be able to survive without him? Probably not. She put his bandage back gently and sat facing him. How much more were they supposed to endure? How many more tests and experiments? How many more deaths and betrayals? She took his hand and squeezed. “Has any of it come back to you yet?”

“No.” There were hazy recollections, voices of doctors and blurry faces but nothing distinct. Dreams mostly of little boys and sandcastles. Even the voices of other people’s thoughts, while still there, were less distinct. He had to concentrate hard to pick anything out so he didn’t, it actually hurt more to do it now and it’d been excruciating before. He could hear Scully though, sense her when she was near. He’d quickly learned to pinpoint that little voice and while he didn’t intrude too much he did like to listen to her beats and rhythms. She was like a little mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam, the beautiful pale blue dot that represented his entire world.

She sipped her tea a little too slowly and shrugged, “That’s probably for the best.”

He smiled at her and he knew she was wondering how much he’d look inside her. “Probably.”

She shifted nervously, tucking her hair furiously behind her ears, fiddled with her cup. She needed to ask, tried to distract herself with a sip of her drink, it didn’t work. “When you were hearing voices, did you hear mine?” His eyes shifted again under her scrutiny, a growing intensity. He swallowed and his adam’s apple bobbed and she didn’t need him to say anything as she had her answer already. She looked away embarrassed, wanting to run.

“I know as much as you want to tell me but I heard you, I still do,” he said truthfully. He’d heard her, loud and clear. He knew the depth of her feelings. There was a reason he’d said the things he’d just said in the hallway. He sat up a little, she wouldn’t meet his eyes. It surprised him. “It bothers you, doesn’t it?”

She couldn’t deny it. She’d seen what Gibson could do, and now she’d seen it manifest itself in Mulder. It wasn’t easy to reconcile his miracle with her hard science. Mulder was right; believing wasn't easy. It was also rather scary to know he knew her innermost thoughts and feelings. It was so daunting. “I’m having trouble processing things,” she whispered, despondant.

He touched her face tenderly, his thumb gently caressing her delicate cheek. If only she would believe, not in aliens, not in mutants or fantastical beings but in herself, in them. “Me too.” He caught a falling tear before it had a chance to connect with her skin. “But know that your truths, your secrets, are yours alone to reveal.” He let her go but not before kissing his thumb, her tear, and pressing it to her lips, making her smile against him. “Why does it bother you that I know what you think and feel, you know that I….”

It was too much, at least right now, that was why. She took out the necklace again, any excuse not to concentrate on her own feelings, and held it out for him, the gemstone catching the glaring morning light and reflecting in his ever changing eye colour. Green one day, grey the next, today forest green and hazel. Intense always. “I don’t know what the truth of anything is anymore.”

“Ah,” he said, slumping back against the sofa. So this is what was really bothering her. Taking it he pressed the diamond into the palm of his hand, the chain hanging loosely over his fingers. It felt heavy and burdensome. He held it up and let it drop from one hand to the other. “I gave this to her.”

She nodded. “Skinner said her mom wanted you to have it.”

“It was an anniversary gift.” He frowned. The memory wasn’t particularly happy. He’d been surprised to see Diana wearing it so regularly lately. There had been intent behind the action he knew. He hadn’t taken her up on it but it was certainly offered a few times, especially in the last few months. He rolled his neck along the back of the sofa to look at his current partner and smiled sadly. “She left the day after.”

That gave her pause. Leaving right after an anniversary must have stung. She was at least comforted by the fact it was an old gift though. “Sorry.”

He wasn’t. Not any more. Not since Dana Scully had first walked into his office all those years ago. “Once upon a time I thought tokens like this would save the world.” He looked at the jewellery suspiciously. Another life passed by. How different things could’ve been if only he’d chosen another path.... Or maybe not. All roads lead to Scully after all. Of that he was certain. “I quickly learnt that trinkets do not solve deep seated issues and nor will it alleviate the stress causing the initial conflict.”

She nodded at his wistful note, she’d been there herself. She leaned forward and stirred the tea in her cup and took a long sip. “I think, Mulder, we’re all guilty of making foolish gestures when we’re in love.” God only knows she’s spent enough money on undeserving men. He raised his eyebrow but she didn’t elaborate. Now wasn’t the time. She did say, however, “But that doesn’t mean that the gesture, and subsequent gesture, isn’t heartfelt.”

He hummed and then narrowed his eyes at her. “You think I was seeing her don’t you?”

“You weren’t?” In a way she knew she couldn’t move on until she knew about the nature of their recent relationship. It shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t. It was a mantra she kept telling herself. But it did matter to her, and she couldn’t put her finger on why. She just knew it was holding her, and them, back. It wouldn’t necessarily change anything but it would create an inner peace at least.

“No. I can’t believe you would even think it or doubt me.”

He took his tie off and hurled it in the direction of the desk, he looked defeated and it took her entire resolve not to swallow him up in a hug. She said, “You can’t blame me for thinking it when…”

He shook his head slowly for emphasis, effectively cutting her off. He wanted to laugh but it felt wrong given the gravity of the situation. “She was my friend, and once upon a time I thought I would spend the rest of my life with her, but she was…” He couldn’t even finish the thought. What was she? His betrayer, his endangerer, a liar? All of the above. He wondered if he even knew her at all now. Yes she’d helped save him, but she’d also double-crossed and continually deceived him. The necklace scorched his hand and he felt angry. Even in death she came between them. He heaved himself up and went to his desk and grabbed an envelope from the drawer. “It was over a long time ago.” He would never have agreed to father a child with Scully if he was still fucking Diana. The very idea was abhorrent. That she would think he’d do that made him infinitely sad. "And I haven't slept with her since 1991."

“What are you doing?” she asked, confused but relieved as she allowed the sincerity of his words to wash over her. They were a great comfort.

“Sending it back to her mom.” He would actually do it in person but he needed to keep it safe nonetheless and he didn’t want to look at it. He would ask Diana to be buried with it. Diana would probably want that and besides what use was this to him? He wasn’t that sentimental. He looked over his shoulder at Scully, at her sad face. Her confusion at the state of their relationship, even now. He’d caused that. He hated himself for it. “You know, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“Whatever for?”

As he sealed the envelope and wrote Diana’s name on the front with a shaking hand he sighed deeply, “For everything.” He turned to look at her, the necklace forgotten for now. “For refusing to listen to you, for the doubt and confusion, for not trusting your instincts and for hesitating in explaining my relationship with Diana.” If he had to spend the next 1000 years attempting to make it up to her he would give it his all. “I was a fool and I hope you can forgive me.”

The world which was once upside down and unrecognizable was finally starting to truly right itself. She could finally see without having to open her eyes. “There’s nothing to forgive.” Not any more. It was over with. She was at peace. “Not anymore.” She stood and went to him, cupping his warm cheek with her hand, heaving a huge sigh of relief when he leaned into it. “I only ever needed clarity. I only ever needed to know about your involvement with her.”

He nodded and pulled her into a tight embrace and nuzzled her neck, taking in her smell and enjoying the feel of her soft hair tickling his face. “What I said outside, earlier, was the truth.” 

“I have always believed you.” She just needed to know about Diana. “I never doubted the strength of your words or the depth of their meaning.”

He stared adoringly down at her and declared, “Good, because I hope you know I am truly in awe of you.”

“I know,” she smiled, his gaze was as intense as it had been earlier, she’d not believed it to have lessened on reflection. “And I am of you.” She just needed him to truly believe. 

“I don’t think you do.” His resolve and determination as powerful as ever he murmured against her, he needed her to truly believe, “Scully, you are the air in my lungs and the beat in my heart. My waking light and the star of my quiet midnight. I’ve wandered the trails of North and South and blindly passed through East and West and yet all the paths I’ve travelled, and forks in the road I’ve agonised over, lead to one single, inalienable, point: You. You are the compass that guides me home. I was stupid to think that there were answers out there waiting to be discovered when I have them right in front of me.”

His words pierced at her heart and settled in her soul, a call to arms. A man who paints masterpieces with the art of his words alone was someone worth hanging on to, someone to cherish. “Mulder…”

“When I say these things to you, Scully, I say them not out of habit but to remind you that you’re the best thing that ever happened to me, now and always. And, while I cannot give you the world you so very much deserve, I can, at least, give you something else, something I hope is the very next best thing.”

“Which is what?”

“My heart.” She might not need a declaration but he would give her one and, without hesitation, he said, “I love you.”

She beamed through the tears she hadn't realised were falling until now, her heart soaring again at his beautiful honesty. “And I love you.” His was the only world she wanted to be a part of, his words were the only ones that mattered. Her perfect other. She hoped never to let him go, or doubt him again, and squeezed him tightly. She had to tell him that she felt the same way. “Always.”

She touched him: his lips, his nose, a soft caress to an eyebrow, his cheek, the squishy pad of his ear lobe. For the longest time they remained that way, soft and subtle caresses and gentle smiles.

She felt free, finally. The confusion gone. Earlier had been a chance to start anew and heal and rebuild trust, to put aside the issues they’d had. Now felt like they could draw a line under Diana too, no more doubt or questions about his life with her. She’d never felt more relieved. This was a moment for them on a personal level rather than the grand. This was about how they could move forward. There was nothing as personal, or as intense, as being able to see what was truly possible for them.

She pulled away slightly but only far enough to raise herself up a little and kiss his cheek again, a smile formed on both their faces as she did so. Earlier had felt wrong for a proper kiss but now felt perfect.

Seemingly he had the same idea. They moved their faces together and let their lips touch softly, sweetly. Chaste almost. It was perfect. There was a promise behind it rather than passion. Even though the kiss was lingering Mulder was definitely not well enough for more.

“The world is a brighter place with you in it Mulder,” she said, pulling away reluctantly. He looked as happy as she felt and she only hoped it was reflected back at him. Looking at his tired eyes though there was only one thing now on her mind now. “Would you do something for me?”

“Absolutely,” he would do anything, “what?”

“Will you please go back to bed, for me. Get some rest. You look terrible.”

“Thanks,” he chuckled.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she said in a mock admonished tone. “Come on, I’ll sit with you while you fall asleep. I’ll even be the big spoon for a little while.”

“Ooh Scully, it’s not good to excite an ill man.”

She rolled her eyes playfully and took his hand, leading him towards their future.

**Author's Note:**

> It's Christmas so I couldn't not have a nice squishy ending with an 'I love you'. I'm an old sap at heart.


End file.
